


Four of Your Minutes

by Cavatica



Series: Breaking and Entering [8]
Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Afterglow, Alien Culture, Alien boyfriends, Andalites, Cooking Lessons, Hollywood Marco, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 15:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9391586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cavatica/pseuds/Cavatica
Summary: Ax is visiting Marco on one of his routine diplomatic trips to Earth. When Ax gets hungry in the middle of the night, Marco decides it's time to teach him some life skills.





	

The air around them was still warm. Their bodies stuck together with evaporating traces of mingled sweat. Marco was on his back, his chest rising rapidly under the weight of Ax’s arm, and Ax face was buried in the crook of Marco’s neck. Ax’s breaths puffed lightly across Marco’s skin with such regularity, Marco thought he might already be asleep. It was a nice idea. Marco slept better when he wasn’t alone, and he definitely intended to take advantage as often as possible while Ax was still in this sector of the galaxy. 

_Don’t think about him leaving while he’s still here_ , Marco reminded himself. But it was a ruthless cycle. Marco wasn’t able to live in the moment while Ax was actually there; then when he was gone, he had to distract himself from the fact that he was just passing time until Ax was back. It sounded pathetic -- it wasn’t like he didn’t have a thousand of his own things going. It’s just that none of them were so important he couldn’t clear out a whole week for Ax when he was in.

“I’m hungry,” Ax mumbled into Marco’s collarbone.

Marco turned his face toward Ax’s and Ax lifted his head, capturing Marco’s mouth in a lazy kiss. They were both still hazy, but it had been two months since Ax’s last visit and soon Marco’s free hand was on Ax’s face and he was sucking and nibbling on his lower lip. Ax pulled back slightly, placing another small kiss as they parted.

“I wasn’t being figurative -- I am actually hungry,” he repeated.

“Are you gonna go for a run, then?”

Ax pressed his lips together. “I was hoping to eat food.”

Marco moved his hand to Ax’s neck and looked over his head at the alarm clock. Ax hadn’t arrived until after midnight and now it was almost four in the morning. 

“Well, you’re out of luck, then, because all the delivery places are closed and I’m not driving you anywhere, even if this is the only time traffic is tolerable,” Marco scoffed. 

He could think of at least ten great 24-hour restaurants within a few miles of his Los Angeles apartment, plus the Denny’s that was just down the street, but Marco would need a shower before he was presentable. He didn’t want to end up in the tabloids rocking a sexily disheveled look. All that sounded like so much work when he just wanted to turn over and go to sleep.

There was no way Ax had been practicing his human expressions while he was back among his people, but Marco swore he was giving puppy dog eyes. Marco wrinkled his nose at the way Ax’s lips pursed -- they were even fuller and softer than usual after sex. Why did Ax have to be so pretty, even with his human morph aged out of adolescence? It made it so hard to say no to him. He made a lot of things really fucking hard.

Marco threw the blanket off the both of them, and Ax drew his legs up to his chest with a yelp. Marco rolled out of bed, wobbling a bit on legs that still felt like rubber. He pulled on a pair of boxers, sweatpants, and a t-shirt, then started rummaging around in his “clothes for Ax” drawer. He found a similar complement of apparel for Ax and tossed it at the bed, where Ax had drawn the cover back up to his chin.

“Where are we going?” Ax said, hiding a small triumphant smile.

Marco waved his hand from his own head to his toes. “Does this look presentable to you? Wait, let me answer that for you -- it’s not.”

Ax looked Marco up and down, considering him seriously. “Why not? All the required parts are covered.” 

“It is truly sad that you’re the Andalite authority on humans, Ax-man.” Ax frowned, but Marco could tell he was annoyed, not hurt. “Only human disasters wear sweatpants in public, and I make a lot of money pretending I’m not that.”

“Yes, but it is important to be yourself at least some of the time,” Ax said, clearly hiding a grin behind the cover, so that his human eyes almost reflected his natural Andalite smile.

Marco snorted. “Says the alien wearing a human suit.” 

“If we are not going anywhere, why are you out of bed and wearing clothing?” Ax complained, rolling onto his back indulgently. Ax was always in favor of not wearing clothing, since he still thought it was stupid. It was as if their intimate relationship allowed him to achieve a dream, but that dream was just semi-frequent human nudity. At least Ax had realistic goals.

“We are going somewhere, and that place is the kitchen; unless you’re not hungry anymore.”

“I am,” Ax said, his head on one of the pillows that was still on the bed -- half of them were on the floor. He pulled the blanket up over his nose, and Marco felt his stomach flip. “If you are going to cook, then can’t I stay in bed?” Less cute.

“Oh no, that’s not how it is.” Marco put his hands on his hips. “You’re not going to stay at my choice selection of swanky homes whenever you decide to rumble on back through Earth space and have me wait on you like you’re an _actual_ prince.”

“I _am_ an actual prince,” Ax sniffed.

“I mean in the Earth sense, the royalty sense, the Disney sense. In the Disney sense, you’re more like one of Snow White’s woodland friends than Prince Charming.”

“Until Tobias explained the distinction, I was under the impression that Earth military is very egalitarian -- perhaps in fact, run by females -- and also very frivolous. The only one that made sense was _Mulan_.”

“Your people let you captain a ship,” Marco pointed out flatly. 

Ax lifted his brows imperiously. “And yours believe you are entertaining.”

Marco shook his head. “Come on, get up and put those on. I’m giving you a cooking lesson.”

“You are what?” Ax said, his words sharp with surprise.

“If you’re gonna stay with me sometimes, you’re going to learn basic life skills. You’re a genius, at least by human standards. I think you can handle boiling water.”

Some of his earlier flush returned to Ax’s face and neck. “You know that sort of implied insult in the form of a compliment is quite flirtatious in my culture?”

“Of course I know that. You can’t slip that kind of thing past me for… for three years, god.” Marco ran his hand through the back of his hair, his legs rubber again. He studied the grain of the hardwood floors in front of his toes to ground himself. 

Obviously, he knew how long it had been. The whole world was marking time in anniversaries since the end of the war that had been done before they knew it started. What was left of the Animorphs probably marked it down to the minute, most days. More than a million minutes since the end of the war most of them somehow survived -- “survived” having a unique definition in each case. Marco hadn’t spent those million minutes with Ax -- not most of them. 

But it was hard to put the time together, before and after. Everything was so different, before and after. Before the war, they’d lived together, clung to each other, spiraled down into dark depths together. After the war, it was like they were bouncing off each other, most of their time spent apart, individual spotlights shining on the both of them. 

They’d spent some of the time broken up, but most of it was some form of “it’s complicated.” The first year, they put in more time in front of cameras and behind microphones pretending just to be comrades and associates than they had just being them. At this point, they spent more time strategizing how to keep the relationship private than they actually spent together. Marco wasn’t even sure who he was under all the pretending anymore. At least that was good practice for the day job.

Either way, the fact that their relationship lived in a liminal state of mostly non-existence meant the three years thing had snuck up on Marco. No way it snuck up on Ax -- didn’t Andalites celebrate anniversaries? It seemed like something they’d do, probably some ritual about how relationships flowed like streams. Unless it didn’t feel real to Ax, either. 

Ax reluctantly slipped out of bed and peered skeptically at the clothes Marco had thrown onto the bed for him. “I already asked, but if we are staying in, why do I have to wear these?”

“Do you really want to have a naked kitchen accident?” Marco deadpanned.

“Why do you assume I will make a mistake?” 

“That’s why I called it an ‘accident’ and not a disturbing impulse to burn your junk, and the only thing that can control you is pants. I really wish we were sleeping or eating instead of arguing about why one should wear pants in the kitchen.” That wasn’t really true -- they both thrived on the back and forth, and it was easier and more natural in person. 

Ax puffed out a dramatic sigh and put on only the sweatpants. Ax approached wearing clothing like he did his academic career -- he did the bare minimum. That seemed to work out for him. 

Marco stepped into his Versace slippers and walked out into the short hall that led to his kitchen/dining area, turning on the lights on his way. He looked up at the sky through the skylight -- it was dark orange from light pollution, but the brightest stars could still be made out. Every time Marco entered his kitchen, it was habit for him to stare up there for a while.

Ax slinked up behind Marco, encircling him with his arms and pressing Marco’s belly into the side of his counter. Marco watched Ax’s chin tilt up. “Are you looking for something?” Ax asked.

“Not right now,” Marco said, pressing his head into Ax’s collarbone.

They both gazed at the stars for a moment. “Would you like me to show you where to look? Andalite’s stars are faintly visible from Earth but unfortunately not in these conditions.”

“Nah. It doesn’t make a difference; it’s not like I’ll be able to see you.”

“Andalites and humans are different.”

“You guys really must have superior vision,” Marco remarked. Ax’s stomach growled against Marco’s back, and Marco elbowed him gently where he’d felt the rumble. “You’re not very goal-oriented, for someone who’s hungry.”

Ax released Marco and leaned against the counter next to him. He crossed his arms. “Possibly because you want to make me cook.”

Marco hopped up to sit on the counter, putting him at eye-level with Ax. He smiled, just an edge of malice creeping in. “Are you admitting you’re nervous, Prince Aximili?”

“I was less nervous before you started making that expression,” Ax admitted.

Marco laughed lightly and leaned back, resting his elbows over the attached bar that rose up over the back of the counter. “What are you gonna do first?”

“You are not going to help me?” Ax looked worried.

“I’m gonna talk you through it, but I know you used to watch the food channel for hours. Show me your stuff.”

Ax huffed and pushed himself away from the counter. He looked around, his eyes resting on the various cabinets and drawers, the sink, the stove. He finally settled on the refrigerator and looked inside.

“Is this a joke?” Ax asked, and Marco cackled. Ax opened the door wider, as if to show Marco, like he didn’t know. “There is only mustard and bottled water in here. And a takeout box that says ‘not for Ax,’ but the date is three weeks ago.”

“Those are your _Iron Chef_ ingredients.”

Ax closed the fridge and looked helplessly at Marco. “You _are_ taking me out, then? Are you teasing me?”

“No, and yes.” Marco waved his hand toward his pantry door. “So I don’t keep perishables on hand; I’m a busy man. That doesn’t mean I don’t have food.”

Ax opened the pantry and surveyed Marco’s stock. Old, sprouting potatoes. An unopened twenty pound bag of rice. A big bag of dry beans Eva had given him that Marco had no idea how to cook. And about twenty different flavors of ramen noodles. Ax looked back at Marco and pressed his lips into a straight line. Marco flashed the most camera-ready smile he could give at four-thirty A.M.

“You are not fit to be left alone,” Ax said.

“Oh, really?” Marco raised his eyebrows theatrically, bouncing one knee restlessly. “If only my space boyfriend were here more often, maybe I’d care enough to have food for him. Pick out two packs of ramen, this is the cooking lesson.”

Ax frowned but looked back into the pantry and seemed to contemplate each flavor seriously.

“You know, these take like four minutes to make, but at this point you’re going to have to reset your morph time.” Marco heckled.

“I still have forty of your minutes,” Ax said, pulling out two chili flavor ramen packets.

“Pots are down there,” Marco indicated. “How long _is_ an Andalite minute, anyway?”

Ax bent down and looked at Marco’s selection of pots. “You have no food but so many food-related accessories. I don’t understand.”

“I’m excessive. I thought you knew that about me. The medium one with the handle.”

Ax picked out the proper pot, brought all the items to Marco, and answered his question, “Minutes are an arbitrary division of an already flawed time measurement system that makes little sense to begin with. We do not have minutes.”

Marco squinted at him. “So, what, you just don’t have a way to talk about short units of time? Open the packets, put the soup mix aside, and put the noodles in the pot.”

Ax was already scanning the back of the package. “I can read, you know.”

“Very impressive.”

“Do you have a ‘cup’ measuring device? It says to boil two ‘cups’ of water.”

“You don’t really have to be that precise, Ax,” Marco said, but pointed to the drawer that contained his measuring cups.

“You are making me perform this task, and I will perform it correctly.” Ax retrieved the proper measuring cup and returned to the sink to measure four cups of water exactly. “Andalites have very accurate and logical time measurement systems, but I know you would not be interested in the details,” Ax answered.

“No really, I’m curious. Tell me of your superior Andalite time.”

Ax cast a weary glance at Marco. “As you know, our years are significantly longer than Earth years.” 

“Yeah, and that’s how you’re still only four years old but I’m not a criminal, I got that.”

Ax took his four cups of water over to the stove and intensely examined the knobs. “Because we inhabit a binary star system, the habitable zone in the Andalite system is much further out. Homeworld orbits our suns more in the range of Jupiter’s position in your system.”

“That’s pretty interesting,” Marco said sincerely.

“Yes?” Ax said, encouraged. Marco never really asked about Andalite culture, which, he considered, was possibly unfair. Marco knew he could never really be a part of Andalite society, though, so it was hard to muster the interest. “We calculate the Andalite equivalent of an hour based on how long light takes to reach homeworld from the suns. That unit is approximately thirty-one point one of your minutes.”

Ax had been fiddling with the stove knobs while he was talking and was starting to look a little helpless. “Turn it all the way up to light the burner, then turn it down a little,” Marco said helpfully. 

The fire lit under the pot and Ax jumped back, alarmed, but then looked excitedly at Marco. Marco couldn’t hold back his own smile at Ax’s enthusiasm. “So I wait for the water to boil?”

“Yep,” Marco said.

Ax leaned against the counter next to the stove, watching the pot carefully. Clearly he wasn’t too familiar with Earth adages.

“Homeworld’s day is also longer than an Earth day,” Ax continued. 

“Which is why you don’t need to sleep as much,” Marco reasoned.

“Correct. And because each day is so long, we quarter them, as we do our years. So a traditional Andalite date notation may be something like Spring of year 3966, Winter of day eighty-six. That is my birth date, and it indicates I was born at night.”

“You’re saying you separate your days into ‘seasons’?” Marco asked.

“Yes. Morning is spring, the zenith of the day is summer, evening is autumn, and night is winter. It makes perfect sense.”

“Yeah, I guess it kind of does,” Marco agreed, a bit skeptically. It did seem a little overcomplicated but that was Andalites for you.

“There are one hundred twenty solar light periods in an Andalite day, therefore there are thirty solar light periods in each daily quarter. Dividing the day as such makes time measurement more manageable.”

“Okay, Ax, but what is your minute?”

“During each solar light period, our largest moon transits fifteen degrees,” he explained as if that was totally clear.

“What?” Marco squinted.

“So we divide the solar period based on lunar degrees. That is our equivalent of a minute. It is all very logical. Much more reasonable than your arbitrary sixty seconds and sixty minutes and twenty-four hours. Where does that even come from?”

“Ax. You just spent fifteen of my minutes explaining your time and two seconds explaining mine. Also, your water is boiling.”

“Well, it was only seven of _my_ minutes, which you would understand if you had paid attention.” Ax looked at the back of the plastic ramen package.

“So what you’re telling me is that Andalite time is so specific to your world and culture that when you deal with other races, you just adopt their time because it’s more convenient?”

Ax looked up from the plastic package he was awkwardly pulling at. “Yes, of course. We have innate time senses; it is simple.”

“So the ‘your minutes’ thing is just an Andalite thing, not a you and me thing?” Marco felt like he’d worried a loose thread until he pulled it out and had ruined a nice pair of jeans. He’d been sure that was for him. 

Ax continued to struggle with the wrapper, the water boiling away behind him. “Oh my god, come here.” Marco reached out, windmilling his hand. Ax bashfully handed his two packets to Marco, who ripped them both cleanly with his canine teeth and handed them back. Ax looked at him in a mix of amazement and horror. 

Ax carefully set the foil flavor pouches aside and dropped the two bricks of noodles into the water. “Four of your minutes,” he said simply.

“I don’t care how Andalites measure time, they’re your freaking minutes too,” Marco said a bit savagely. He hated when things were taken away from him.

Ax stepped forward and placed his hands on the counter on either side of Marco’s thighs. “That is the ‘you and me’ thing. And you started it. Why was it so important for you to impose your time on me?”

Marco’s face was hot, and he could feel his pulse in his neck. “You were annoying about it.”

“I was trying to annoy you,” Ax said, leaning in so they were almost nose-to-nose. “You, specifically.”

“Okay. Okay, good.” Marco placed his palm against Ax’s cheek, and Ax closed the miniscule distance between their lips. 

Ax pressed forward, pushing Marco’s back up against the edge of the bar. Marco moved his hands around the back of Ax’s bare shoulders, flattening his palms against Ax’s hot skin, then clasping his hands behind Ax’s neck. He pulled him in deeper and wrapped his legs around Ax’s waist. Their kisses always felt a little wild, a little desperate, on Ax’s first day back. At least for now, they wanted the same things and it could be easy. 

Ax pressed their foreheads together, parting reluctantly. “It has been four minutes.”

“Whose minutes?” Unclasping his hands, Marco move them to cup Ax’s face and pressed one more kiss to his lips before letting him go.

“Ours,” Ax answered, smiling. Then he added, “But in actuality, yours. If it had been mine, the food would be overcooked.” Marco leaned back and rolled his eyes.

Ax turned back to his ramen and picked up a wrapper to ensure he continued to follow the instructions to the letter. While Ax turned off the heat and mixed in the spice packets, Marco got out two bowls and handed him a fork.

“Looks like you did it,” Marco commented as Ax carefully portioned their noodles out.

Soon Marco was curled up next to Ax on the couch, absently flipping through the channels on his fifty inch plasma. He settled on muting an infomercial where a woman was using a kitchen knife to cut through a boot.

“I love this one,” Ax commented.

“I know.” Marco blew on his noodles a bit and slurped up his first bite. “This was a good idea. Now I know I can make you do this more often.”

Ax had already inhaled about half of his portion. “I think they are better when you make them, though. How is that possible?”

“Food’s always better when someone else makes it,” Marco said between bites. “But really, probably because following the instructions isn’t always the best way to do things.”

Ax nodded, setting his empty bowl aside. “That is wise.”

“There are so many lessons you can learn from me, the Ramen Noodle Master.” Marco handed his bowl to Ax so he could drink the broth, then stretched to put the bowl on the coffee table. He snuggled sleepily into Ax’s side. 

“Yes, but can they all be taught in four of your minutes?” Ax slid his soup-warmed hand up Marco’s shirt. 

Marco laughed, low in his throat, and slithered up so they were lying chest-to-chest. “I doubt it, but if you reset your morph, we can find out.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my betas! This time I got an assist from the very great [LilacSolanum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacSolanum/pseuds/LilacSolanum) whose fic [The Rachel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9208901) you need to check out because it is simultaneously super funny and horrifying, just like all the best things about Animorphs. 
> 
> Next week my new series starts and it's gonna be an exciting space romp! (Well, everyone is honestly pretty sad, but what are you gonna do?) Thanks for following my work and please [follow me on tumblr](http) for lots of stupid headcanons and romantic art of Andalites.


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